


The Annual Pendragon-Johnson Hannuchristmas Double Holiday Banquet and Bash XXXVI

by Ishti



Series: The Annual Pendragon-Johnson Hannuchristmas Double Holiday Banquet and Bash [3]
Category: Aveyond
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Relationships, F/F, Hijinks, Holidays, One Big Happy Family, Polyamory, established relationships - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:06:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21722698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ishti/pseuds/Ishti
Summary: Bigger. Better. Plottier.
Relationships: Mel Darkthrop & Pirate John, Mel Darkthrop/Stella (Aveyond)/Lydia Rupert
Series: The Annual Pendragon-Johnson Hannuchristmas Double Holiday Banquet and Bash [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1879510
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iztopher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iztopher/gifts).



> shhh I didn't change the publication date wh

It was Christmas Eve, and Mel was tenuously happy.

In East Village, there was a little stretch of 1st Avenue where you could find one florist each block on one side or the other, tucked in amongst the trendy restaurants with all lower-case names and unambiguously-dubbed highlights such as “Big Gay Ice Cream” and “The Cock”. Rather, you could find one on every block _except_ for 5th Street. That was because “Stamen Night with Me”, somewhat more ambiguously-named in regular caps and manned in the last few months by only the owner and one stubborn employee in her mid-twenties, went out of business in August.

In the Upper West Side, in a living room dominated by Thomas Blakemore, from three gilded hooks on a marble mantelpiece hung two vintage Mike Seratt stockings waiting austerely to be stuffed. A Buccellati snowflake ornament, heavy with the dust of 1995, dangled from the third hook.

In Bedford-Stuyvesant, a stack of bills in a mesh file organizer stood erect on a stone kitchen countertop as Mel dashed by, ignoring them for the eighty-seventh time in a row. She chucked a fresh roll of paper towels at the metal holder by the stove, missing it completely, before snatching up her tongs, lifting three buñuelos at once from the bubbling oil, and plopping them onto a lined baking sheet. Three jackets adorned the coat-rack beside the countertop--one olive green peacoat, one pale blue puffer jacket with faux-fur lining, and last year’s Fendi furs.

Lydia, who could no longer hold back the tremendous secret of her Parson’s graduate studies from her father, was cut off and kicked out in May, terrified she might have to drop out of school. Mel moved out of East Flatbush and into the one apartment in all of Brooklyn that she and Lydia could both tolerate and afford. Stella, unemployed and hemorrhaging money in her months-long depression-eating phase, was unable to pay rent come September. Now, all three of them were squished uncomfortably together in an impressively grime-free two-bedroom apartment.

Neither Stella nor Lydia would, as of this moment, wash their own laundry. Or dishes. As much as Mel loved them and knew they needed her right now, _that was becoming a little_ _irritating._ Yet, in the hazy heat of holiday cooking, she still couldn't help but feel overall a bit happy.

“You sure I can’t help a little, Mels?” asked someone she’d completely forgotten was sitting on the couch. “I used to make these with Mom, y’know.”

Mel stopped in mid-tong and blinked a bit. “Oh, uh. It’s okay, but thanks.”

She looked out over the countertop to peek at John, who looked a little bleary and wild-haired, as if he’d just woken from a nap.

“Okay, but I don’t want to fall asleep again,” he said.

“You can turn on the TV. We have Netflix.”

“Couldn’t spring for a little Disney+?”

“Wouldn’t want to anyway.”

The television blipped on. “Netflix is all ‘originals’ these days,” complained John. “They even took down Face Off! That movie’s a national fucking treasure!”

“El Dorado is still up,” Mel pointed out. (Stella had forced her and Lydia to watch it at least once a week for the past month and a half. She always cried during “Friends Never Say Goodbye”.)

“What about this show ‘The Good Place’? I heard it was good, but I also heard Stranger Things was good.”

“It _was_ good. Lydia won’t let us watch The Good Place anymore because she feels personally attacked by this character Tahani.”

John made a whip-cracking noise that Mel could just hear over the sizzle of the buñuelos. “Whatever. I’m putting on Pulp Fiction.”

The Miramax pianos played, and Ringo and Yolanda began their historic game of verbal air hockey, and the last of the dough dipped in and out of the fryer. Mel switched off the heat and set her high-sided frying pan on a back burner.

“You know, I always thought Tim Roth was doing a shitty fake accent,” she said. “The first couple times I saw it.”

“Reservoir Dogs must have really confused you.”

Mel finished the buñuelos with one last hit of cinnamon sugar. For her second try, she didn’t think they looked half-bad. She wanted them to look all-good, though; it was possible she was trying to impress someone.

“Are you planning on driving all three of us tonight?” she asked.

“Yeah, if you and your gifts all want to squeeze into my dinky rental car.”

“That’s fine. We all have laps.”

“Right; so Lydia puts the buñuelos in her lap, and you put Lydia in your lap.”

Mel laughed. “And then we all die.”

“You say that so cheerfully.” John turned down the TV and chuckled.

“It’s millennial humor.” Mel left her handiwork cooling in the kitchen, shoving John over so she could sit on the couch. “I can’t honestly be in a bad mood today.”

“You’ve got a lot going on, so I wouldn’t blame you.”

“Nah, it’s fine! I’m gonna eat my weight in free food, spend time in a house that doesn’t frequently smell like air-vent pot smoke, be around so many of my favorite people. You, Grandmava, Ed, June…” Mel grinned. “And Peter and Sophie!”

“Oh… Mel--”

“I haven’t seen them in _years!”_ Mel gushed. “I think the last time I saw Peter was five years ago before he moved back to Cambridge! And Sophie--I mean, it hasn't been _much_ longer, but it feels _way_ longer. She’s like….” Waving her arms in the air with excitement, Mel nearly hit John on the head. “I mean, she’s like my _mentor!_ You know the last postcard she sent me was a photo of her with a _crocodile?!”_

John watched sadly as Mel mimicked the corny expression and thumbs-up Sophie made in the photo, which hung in the center of the entryway corkboard. “Mel, I gotta tell you something.”

Mel immediately slumped down, catching his tone. “Oh. No. Don’t.”

“Look, it’s okay--Peter and his--uhh… whatshisname are still coming,” he started. “You’ll get to see them! But Sophie’s flight rescheduled, and her layovers all canceled, and she wouldn’t even get here until the day of her next assignment.”

“It’s tough flying this time of year, huh,” Mel sighed.

“I know how much you were looking forward to seeing her.” John rubbed Mel’s back sympathetically. “Especially right now.”

“Can we… can we just go soon? As soon as Stella and Lydia wake up from their communal nap? Please.”

“Only if you promise me you’re still gonna have a good time.”

“Hold me at gunpoint, I guess.”

John smiled and kissed Mel’s headband. “That sounds like Mel.”

Mel batted him away. “And that’s my dumb sap of a Dad. I’m just disappointed. I’ll live.”

“I know you will. I know that you deserve something good, too.”

“Well… you’re something good.”

“And that’s my dumb sap of a daughter.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaaaaaaaa a

“Stella! Could you be a  _ bit _ more careful with that seatbelt! This sable is  _ mortal, _ you know!”

“I’m sorry--no, no I’m not; it’s already dead!”

“Which is why I ought to wear it  _ intact _ as long as humanly possible; that’s no less than it deserves!”

“Uh…. You know you can get one that looks basically like that at Burlington for, like, twenty bucks.”

“Yeah, like, twenty bucks! Oh, and Mel, did you grab the--”

“Would you two endpieces mind getting out of the car so I can get my heels off the center armrest?”

Mel rolled her eyes and opened the backseat car door, catching her gift before it tumbled onto the driveway. With the buñuelos in one arm and her gift bag hanging from the other, she carefully sidled out of the car as Stella did the same on the other side. Making a show of how difficult it was, Lydia squirmed out of the car toward Mel, hands occupied by a clutch purse and a wrapped gift.

The doors slammed shut, and John hit the “lock” button on his keys until he was satisfied with how many times the car honked. He put his arm around Stella’s shoulders and gave her a rub. “Good thing not everyone’s here yet, huh? Street parking is already getting hairy around these McMansions.”

“This is hardly a Mc--” Lydia stopped short, considering whether her comment contributed anything valuable, and fell silent.

Stella kissed Lydia’s cheek and headed to the front door after John. Lydia hooked her purse arm through Mel’s gift bag arm, and they walked to the front door as a unit.

“Looks kinda like rain, doesn’t it?” commented Mel, glancing at the overcast sky.

“Yeah,” sighed Lydia. “Call me a child, but I still think every Christmas should be white, like in the movies.”

Mel smiled at her fondly. “Hey, if it rains or snows, that’s still water coming out of the sky, isn’t it?”

“You know just how to cheer me up.”

“This is gonna be your best Christmas, Lyds.”

Lydia giggled softly as they approached Grandmava’s door. “I bet it will.”

The door swung open, and out burst Aunt Marge and an unfamiliar dog.

“JOHNNY!” she hollered, wrapping her arms around her brother. “HOW  _ ARE  _ YOU! OH MY GOD, I  _ MISSED  _ YOU! ARE YOU COLD! COME IN!”

Each of the girls was ushered inside to a similar string of exclamations, Mel grinning her eyes to watering and Lydia trying to toss in that she liked Marge’s red skirt. Their gifts were whisked from their hands with masterful speed. Stella was immediately commandeered to inspect a dying houseplant.

They weren’t the only ones to arrive early; chatter and laughter indicative of a respectable crowd reached them from the living room. The toilet flushed from the bathroom down the hall, and Nic emerged in a pale cowl-neck sweater and asymmetrical skirt, a green cardigan, and brown, heeled boots. His hair was loosely braided behind him in the style of his sister. Lydia and Mel caught his eye, and he  _ click-clack _ ed to them with his confident stride.

“It’s my favorite niece!” cooed Nic. “And Mel!”

“Who let Edward Elric outta Briggs?” sassed Mel. Nic gave her a friendly shoulder shove.

“It’s good to see you two. Lydia, the white sweater-dress  _ belongs _ to you.”

“Of course it does,” said Mel. “She bought it at Ross.”

Nic sighed. “No, Melanie. I mean  _ the _ white sweater-dress, the  _ concept.” _

“The way you own the monochrome headband,” offered Lydia.

“You two are nuts. Have fun.”

Mel waved them off and headed for the living room, following the tantalizing scent of latkes and lagers. Jack was behind the bar; they met eyes, and Jack immediately whisked around for his Ketel One. She nodded at Galahad in the armchair, and smiled at Elizabeth, sitting on the couch to his left.

“Hey, Mel!” Ellie said, standing up to do that half-hug thing that Mel didn’t especially enjoy. “Good to see you! Merry Christmas!”

“You, too, Ellie,” said Mel, allowing herself three full seconds of embrace before breaking away. “How’s winter been treating you?”

“Oh, you know; just a bunch of squatting busts and a couple cases of accidental arson.” Ellie laughed. “Only difference now that I’m captain is I have to do three times the paperwork!”

Mel chuckled politely and turned her gaze to the coffee table, hunting for her latkes. The glazed clay plate was nearly empty, so she--

“Oh, this is Mel?” chimed an unfamiliar voice. Mel cast her eyes to the couch once more. Sitting beside Elizabeth was a man about the same age, with brown hair hanging just past his jawline. He was smiling. “I’ve heard so much about you! I’m Percy. I’m an old colleague of Galahad’s. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He leaned forward to shake her hand, and she did so, politely, as Elizabeth removed a latke from the plate. “Pleasure to meet you, too,” Mel said absently. “How long have you known Galahad?”

“Oh, we go way back. We actually met even before the academy; I’d just graduated with my bachelor’s!”

“What did you study?”

“Believe it or not, I was a film major.”

Mel had no idea whether that should be a difficult thing to believe, but she did watch as Percy picked the last latke off the plate and just held it there in his disrespectful hand as he spoke. She suppressed a frown. “That’s pretty cool. You talk to my dad yet? He’s a film buff.”

Percy scooted over slightly as Ellie excused herself to visit the restroom. “Yeah… John, right?” he said. “I spoke to him earlier about the game.”

“Uh… not that John.” Mel bent to pick up the plate. “The one with the eyepatch. He’s around somewhere.”

“Oh,  _ Rabbit!” _ cried a voice from behind Mel, who found herself being stroked like a beloved family pet by a very cold pair of hands. “There you are!”

Mel twisted herself around, squeezing out a grin. “Hi, Aunt Te’ijal--”

“Are you going to the kitchen, my lamb?” Te’ijal’s hands moved from Mel’s shoulders, and before Mel could blink twice, Te’ijal had taken the plate. “I am going there now, so I will be happy to deliver this to the chefs for washing!”

Resigned, Mel clasped her hands by her waist. “Perfect. Go for it.”

Te’ijal whisked herself down the hall, calling behind her, “It is my pleasure!”

On the larger couch by the television, Emma, Ean, and a woman Mel didn’t know burst into sudden laughter. Deprived of the opportunity for latkes, Mel turned her attention there, smiling at the police cohort as she left them. She rested her rump against the couch by Ean’s head and leaned back to meet him with a fist bump.

"Nice one," Ean said, craning his neck to see Mel. "Very solid!"

"It's among the more satisfying fist bumps I've experienced," responded Mel.

"Hey!" called Emma. "Mel's here!"

"Hey yourself." Mel walked around to the front of the sofa, ducking a little to avoid blocking the screen.

"Mel?" said the strange woman on the couch, fixing her attention on Mel. Her blond updo swished and bobbed as she stood up. "Am I meeting Mel?"

"Yep."

"It is such a pleasure, Mel! Everyone is talking about how great you are. I'm Blanchefleur. Blanche is fine." She held her arms out. "Hugs or handshakes?"

Mel smiled, partially in discomfort, partially in muted delight. "Handshakes."

Blanche gave Mel a hearty handshake. "Emma was just telling me about what you guys got up to when you were kids! It sounds like you and Ed were real pranksters."

Mel broke into a full smile and sat on the couch. "Ems was too uptight. She practically begged us to mess with her."

"Wh--I was  _ not!" _

"Emma, you nearly cut off my pinkie that one time we made peanut stew and I decided to be the spinach monster," pointed out Ean.

"Why was I ever friends with you clods?" Emma huffed good-naturedly.

“That’s family!”

Out of the corner of her eye, Mel spotted another woman she didn’t know strolling by the bar with Ellie, who fidgeted with her hands, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. The woman by Ellie’s side had dark, wavy tresses and a floor-length burgundy dress. Mel noticed little else before, in a whiff of chilly-smelling perfume, Iya and her silver dress cascaded onto the couch beside Ean.

“Hi, guys! Hi, Mel. Good to see you!”

“Good to see you, too,” replied Mel. “Wait. Where are the tots?”

Iya tugged up the shoulder of her cardigan. “Robin and Myst? They’re with Boyle and Ingrid. We, um, didn’t want--”

“We got a sitter,” Emma sighed.

“Ohh,” said Mel. “Shame. I kind of like them.”

Blanche snickered while Emma shrugged with her whole torso. “Four for the price of two was a good deal,” explained Emma. “Not a lot of sitters would take four kids, anyway, especially on Christmas Eve.”

“Yeah, this guy was a real weirdo,” murmured Ean.

Iya squinted. “What was his name, again?”

“Harry-Boo, or… or something like that. Habby-Roo.”

“You’re paying him, and you don’t know his  _ name?” _ scoffed Mel.

“Rye was the one who found him!” said Ean with a little laugh.

“Mel!”

Mel jumped a bit in her seat as Stella blurted into her ear. “What?!”

Stella leaned back, away from Mel’s head. “There’s someone in the foyer I think you’ll want to see!”

Interest piqued, Mel turned atop the couch to stare down Stella. “Who?”

“I was going to maintain a  _ little  _ dramatic tension!” Stella giggled, tequila sunrise on her breath. She tugged affectionately at Mel’s bow. “Come on!”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My brain is working again so let's finish this

“You still smell like airplane!”

Mel dropped from her toes to her heels, releasing herself from the one hug she’d been excited for all year. At over six feet tall, Peter was hardly the easiest man to hug. He smiled the way he did, with the corners of his mouth tugging down, stretching a constellation of freckles that spanned the width of his face.

“If you’d let me take off my parka....”

“Right.” Mel offered a hand to take Peter’s jacket. “I’ll hang it up.”

Peter handed it off, holding onto his beige tote bag, and pointed his fiance to the bathroom. “It’s been years since I visited Grandmava’s,” he commented. “Rhen, John, and I had the place to ourselves a few times. Frankly, I’m surprised I’m allowed back in. Is Rhen cooking, by the way?”

“Yeah. Stella went to get her.”

“I’m sorry that Sophie isn’t coming.”

Mel sighed. “It’s not a big deal.”

Peter trailed his hand along an end table and swiped his thumb over the frame of a new photo depicting Emma and Rye with young Boyle in a pumpkin patch. “I still can’t believe there are great-grandkids now. What an amazing couple years I’ve missed.”

“I dunno about  _ amazing,” _ Mel responded.

“Don’t you and Stella have a new girlfriend? I’d call that pretty amazing.”

It was odd to hear someone refer to Lydia as “new”. Now that Mel considered it, she could hardly remember her life before Lydia came around. “You’ll like her,” she said.

_ “Peter!” _

Rhen came rushing into the foyer in a gravy-smudged apron and flung her arms around her old friend. He gripped her tight and rocked from side to side, pressing his nose into her lavender hair.

“Look at you,” he cooed. “Did you get shorter?”

With a scoff, Rhen pulled away. “Shut up. Cedar Peter, hundred-feeter.”

“Purple’s nice, but red is sweeter.”

_ “Ugh. _ I missed you so much.” Rhen squeezed Peter close again. “Did you bring me anything?”

“Fifteen years.” Peter fished a bottle of dark amber Glenfarclas from his tote bag. “What a nose she’s got. We’ll want to ditch Lars before we open this.”

“Oooh…” Rhen took the bottle, her eyes glittering. “Thank you!”

“You’re very welcome. I’m starving and it smells like grease in here; point me in the right direction.”

“Dinner will be ready pretty soon, but we just finished a fresh batch of latkes.”

Mel snapped to attention. “Let me get them.”

“Carry them on the plate, not in your stomach!” teased Peter.

With a roll of her eyes, Mel trotted to the kitchen, sucking up the scent of potatoes and fat like a hound on the hunt. The instant she rounded the corner and her feet hit the cool tile, Talia called, “Hi, Mel!” and Grandmava waved her over with a “C’mere, c’mere!”

Mel slid across the linoleum and gave Grandmava a kiss on the cheek. “I’m here for latkes.”

“Hang on; try this.” Before Mel could react, Grandmava had stuffed a spoon into her mouth. Rich, salty broth flooded Mel’s palate, and her teeth met something thin and slippery which yielded to them like butter. Mel chewed for a moment, flipping the foreign foodstuff over with her tongue. She swallowed.

“What was  _ that?” _

“Crepe soup! Yvette and Rowen brought it. What do you think?”

“Oh, it’s nice! Really simple. Is there…” Mel twisted her nose to the side in concentration. “Is there cheese in that?”

“A little asiago.”

“Yum. So soup, huh?” Mel located the tray of fresh latkes on the island counter. “Are we doing  _ courses _ this year?”

“Just like on Passover!” affirmed Talia. “When you get those latkes out there, could you start taking orders? Except instead of borscht or matzoh balls, just ask how many crepes and carrots people want.”

“Got it.” With a spatula, Mel transferred the latkes from their tray onto a large glass dish. “Lots of new guests this year, huh?”

“Yup.” Grandmava chuckled. “The gift exchange was a pain in the butt to organize this year, let me tell you that.”

“Who’s that lady with the dark hair?”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific than that, hon.”

Mel’s brow furrowed. “Uh, she was wearing a long red dress. And I think she had a mole on her face.”

“Oh, that’s… uh, I think she came with Te’ijal. I’m assuming she came with Te’ijal, anyway. What’s her name, T?”

“Beatrice or something like that?” Talia grabbed the oven mitts from beside the stove. “She was a last-minute RSVP by email. Turkey’s coming out.”

Mel spooned a little sour cream into a small bowl and carried the spread out to the living room, carefully watching her feet. She cleared her throat. “Snacks.”

“Woohoo!” Percy was the first to snag a latke. “Thanks.”

Mel set the plate on the table. Pulling out her phone to take notes, she said, “Okay, we’re doing soup with dinner; everyone tell me how many crepes you want.”

About ten different people responded at once. Mel hesitated. On the television couch, Iya held up three fingers and smiled. Mel typed  _ “Iya 3” _ into her notepad app.

“Uh… say that again, Emma?”

“Four.”

“Okay, four. And Galahad? How many crepes?”

“Is the stock vegetarian?” asked Galahad from the armchair.

“Yes it is!” chimed Yvette from the bar. “I also want four.”

“I will have two.”

“Give me five,” said Peter, walking past to join Yvette and John at the bar. “And real quick, Mel, we’re video chatting with Sophie after dinner. She wants to see you.”

Mel perked up. “Aw, yes!”

Stella emerged from the hall holding a chanukkiah by the stem in each hand. “Can someone help me set the table?” she called. “And I’ll have however many crepes you’re having.”

“Counting the one I already ate?”

“Uh oh.”

The attention around the smaller couch turned to Ellie, who had her own cell phone in her hand and a concerned look on her face. Her eyes darted back and forth as if she was reading something again and again.

“What’s wrong?” asked Percy, wiping his lip.

“Anonymous tip, it sounds like.” Ellie frowned. “It sounds like someone is planning a little mischief in this neighborhood tonight.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

“What sort of ‘mischief’?” demanded Galahad.

“I dunno. All I know is that they’re targeting this block.”

“That’s a hell of a coincidence, considering how many cops are at this party,” commented John. The wariness in his voice was not lost on Mel, who had inherited her dad’s healthy discomfort around law enforcement.

The strange woman Beatrice leaned her hands against the back of the couch just behind Ellie. Ellie glanced behind and colored slightly, drawing her phone closer to her face. Beatrice leaned over to read over her shoulder, exposing a great deal of cleavage in the process. “Well, this could be fun,” she murmured in a silken voice.

“It is our job to take such threats seriously,” snipped Galahad, evidently less than pleased Beatrice was within ten feet of him. “We should be vigilant.”

“I could watch outside,” offered Percy.

“Ridiculous. You were invited here to enjoy yourself. I--”

“Guys, let me do this.” Ellie stared each of them down, puffing out her chest a bit. Beatrice bent lower, crossing her arms on the couch behind Ellie, who swallowed. “As the newest captain--”

“We should just take shifts,” said Percy.

“Then I will go first,” said Galahad, rising to his feet.

Te’ijal emerged from the hall. “Working tonight, husband?”

“There has been a threat. I will be watching the street for suspicious activity.”

“Then I shall bring you a plate of dinner!” Te’ijal declared, and Galahad sighed.

“Okay.” Ellie slipped her phone back into her pocket. “Percy, you’re in the gift exchange this year, right? You won’t want to miss that. I’ll take second watch.”

Stella cleared her throat politely. “Mel, will you help me set the table?”

“Oh.” Mel handed her phone off to Te’ijal. “Aunt Te’ijal, can you finish taking orders for crepes?”

“It would be my pleasure,” said Te’ijal, but she wasn’t smiling--odd, for her.

“You don’t have to.”

“No, I will!” Te’ijal insisted. “I simply have some concerns about the situation tonight, before I continue in your place.”

“What is it?” asked Galahad.

“My brother.”

Stella lowered her arms. “Gyendal?”

Mel groaned. “I hope not.”

“But it could be him,” Te’ijal pointed out. “He is not one to simply adhere to the terms of an unfavorable agreement without intending to exact vengeance on the other party.”

“No one will be exacting any vengeance at this party,” Ellie reassured her. As Mel turned to join Stella, her gaze drifted to the couch, and she wondered when Beatrice had so silently vanished from the room. Grandmava had said Beatrice came to the party with Te’ijal, but Mel didn’t think she’d seen Beatrice and Te’ijal together even once.

“So you say,” said Te’ijal. “May I ask how many crepes you would like in your soup?”


End file.
